He was a beggar I guess,
with clothes tattered and torn
face dirty and haggard
knees ragged and worn.
His hands were shaking
as he held them out in a plea,
“please, anything...
I need something to eat.â€
His feet were bare
and his toes, though black,
i’m sure were frozen and hurting,
probably bleeding and cracked.
He had a hardened look in his eyes
a broken air to his stance,
like a man too proud to beg
too many times we’ve told him, he‘s of no consequence.
He was standing on the corner,
so quiet so still
i just walked right past his sorrowing eyes
like so many of us will.
He stood maybe four feet tall,
he was begging us with his eyes, his heart, his soul.
on the streets, hungry, alone, and weary
maybe five or six years old.
